I PS 2197 

.K5 AN 

Copy 1 



ESSAY ON THE OKATION, 



TOGETHER WITH 



OCTAVIA'S PRAYER, 



AND OTHER CHOICE POEMS. 



BY LEOPOLD M. KOHN. 



PHILADELPHIA : 
LEOPOLD M. KOHN, 207 SOUTH NINTH STREBT. 



AN 



ESSAY ON THE OBATION, 



TOGETHER WITH 



OCTAVIA'S PRAYER, 



AND OTHER CHOICE POEMS. 



BY LEOPOLD M. KOHN. 



JUL 2'j iafc6^ / 

»P^ WASHU)'- 



PHILADELPHIA : 

LEOPOLD M. KOHN, 207 SOUTH NINTH STREET. 

1886. 



.K5 



Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1886, 

BY LEOPOLD M. KOHN, 

In the Ofiace of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



I 






TO THE INTELLIGENT PUBLIC. 

I take sincere pleasure in offering tliis little book to you 
for your consideration and judgment. It is made up of 
strictly original poems and blank verses, some of which, 
as you may know, have already appeared in print, while 
others have been changed and improved and new ones 
added, the whole now going to make up the contents of 
tlie little book to hand. 

Owing to its variety of blank verses, I am a little sensitive 
as to whether it will receive such proper appreciation as 
was anticipated for it at the outset. If I made use of blank 
verse at all, it was not because I wanted to differ from 
other writers in this respect, but because I was constraiaed 
to do so more from sheer force of circumstances than for 
any other reason. Tlie English language is deticient in 
rhyme, and such as may have occasion to harbor a deep 
thought with an eager, facile pen cannot afford to waste 
their time looking up a rhyme, or be hampered by what 
is still worse — a given space of mean dimensions — but must 



liurry on regardless of everything, being only content to 
have dignity and harmony place of rhyme. Of course, 
this applies to deep thought only. 

Humor, with a moral; dramatic, patriotic, pathetic, 
spiritual, philosophic, imaginative, narrative — in fact, some- 
thing for everybody, for the elocutionist, for the spiritual, 
for the humane, for the human. 

The essay at the end of the book, drawing a line of de- 
marcation between poetry, rhetoric and the oration on the 
one hand, and the disquisition and logic on the other, con- 
tains a few hints for public speakers and writers I hope 
worthy consideration. 



■■'^^ 



OCTAVIA'S PKAYER. 

Time— Directly after the defeat of Brutus and Cassius at Philippi bj' Marc 
Antony and Octavius Caesar, with the Roman forces. 

It was an August day — near even time. 
The sun was great and red, and so sublime 
Appeared the purple, gray, and streaks of gold, 
That men looked up, Heaven's grandeur to behold. 

Just then a courier entered his native gates, 

Shot past the Forum, through the narrow streets, 

Up to Octavia's desolate abode. 

A cavalcade of cits behind him rode— - 

A wounded gladiator, with drooping head — 

The mob whom Antonj^'s sly vengeance fed ; 

A Senator, with hoary head and bowed, 

Down from the Forum thus addrest the crowd : 

"Friends, Komans, Countrymen:— At Philippi, 
Both Brutus and the wretched Cassius lie ; 
That is, their bodies lie upon the field. 
And so conspiracy's fate is once more sealed. 
Octavius Coesar will to-night appear 
Before you in the Forum to make clear 
All things—why Silver-tongued Cicero 
Was doomed to death, with reasons plain to show 
'Twas well. Marc Antony, the gossips say. 
Is booked for Egypt at an early day. 



Go home, good men, and spread abroad the news, 
And let its virtue every heart enthuse. 
Yet on the streets refuse to congregate, 
But go right home, and shut off all debate." 

On that mid-night, by her taper, 

Sat Octavia in her bovver, 
Heading, thinking o'er the paper 

Brought her in an evil hour : 

" Left his friends, familiar faces, 
Blessings, glories, all behind ; 

And the many vivid traces 
Bearing record in my mind. 

" Now, ye gods, that proved so loving- 
Loving in the days of old ; 

Always Vv^ith the righteous moving. 
Adding goodness manifold— 

"On my knees, I put a query 
To ye, gods, that ruled the past : 

Do ye hearken to the weary. 
Clinging faithful to the last ? 

" Kneeling faithful here before ye, 

Condescend an ear to lend ! 
Oh, ye gods, I pray ye hear me— 

Life is ebbing to its end. 



Like the Druid,* living lowly 

In the forest antl the cave, 
I love Nature — Nature solely ! 
Do not, then, a hearing waive. 

Roman, head is ; Druid, heart is ; 

Yet no cave could be my home ! 
All the world to her pays tribute ! 

See how proud I am of Rome ! 

"Be all loving to my dearest; 

He hath left me lonely here ; 
When in danger, be ye nearest — 

As the Druids ye were near. 

" Let no Cleopatra's beauty 
Keep Marc Antony from his Rome 

Poor Octavia did her duty ; 
Lead him, gods, I beg you, home ! 

"Now, ye gods, my query ended, 
Hear him, if he faintly call, 

Hanging from a w^eb suspended ; 
Lift him up, if down he fall." 



* This may appear at first an anachronism. But when it is remembered 
that Julius Caesar conquered the country of the Druids and gave an histo- 
rical account of the people B. C. 100 ; and when it is further remembered 
that Octavia, sister of Octavius Caesar and closely related to Julius Caesar, 
was an educated woman, of a patrician family, and acquainted with the 
toj)ics of the day, it will tend to disprove all anachronism. 



TO THE PAST. 

O Ancient Land of Cultiiie and of Lore ! 

Ancient Greece, tliou Land of Genins 

And Poesy ! bending at tliy l<nee tlie world 

Was taught pliilosopliy and noble thought ! 

Aye, here it was that Agamemnon kneeled, 

Epaminondas, Phythias, and all 

Thy wise, and brave, and pure, and good, were reared — 

The hero of the hour who desperate fought 

To hold Thermopyla?'s Pass — Leonidas ! 

Tlie world looks up to thee as much to-day, 

Chissic Land, as wlien, promiscuous mixed. 

Thy lucid spears were raised and canopied 

That hard-fought field, with head of foe transfixed 

Thereon. But that was long, long, long ago. 

These poor, mute shreds — reminders of the Past ! 

These poor, mute shreds thou hast bequeathed this age, 

Tins active age, tliis age tliat loves thee not. 

Tliese poor, mute shreds — mementos of the Past ! 

Which hand of devotee snatclied from thy ruins 

And placed within the shrine of classic lore. 

To live preserved among earth's sacred things ! 

Oh, how many little eye€> 
I can see up in the skies. 
See them playing peek-a-boo, 
Like our blue-eyed children do. 



INNER THOUGHTS. 

I wonder wliat the world would do, 

If all tlio good had fled ; 
I wonder if it wouldn't think 

Far hetter it were dead. 

I wouder what its ingrates would, 
And what the false would say, 

If God should liarden human hearts, 
And take their good awa}'. 

Among the worldly many he 
Who care, nor think, uor heed ; 

They push and move and marcli along, 
Nor pause — except in need. 

Then find some soul to interpose ; 

To lend a helping hand ; 
But spurns for thanks is all he gets. 

Since thanks are in demaud. 

Man's tongue oft bends a certain way. 
His heart oft beats another ; 

No Charity between the two, 
How can they love each other? 

Sweet Charity is Love joined hands 
With Tongue and Heart and Light ; 

She rideth on the Morning wind, 
And putteth Dark to flight. 



10 



A fileiid in need is friend indeed," 

A lesson for tlie heart ; 
For noble deeds can never die, 

Nor kindly words depart. 
At this, the shrine of all the shrines, 

Let souls kneel down and pra}- ; 
And hei-e commune with Light of Lights, 

The Light that lit the day. 

••O-^O*' 

HUMANE. 
In the ocean there is grandeur 

When its maddest surges I'oar, 
Mingling spray and foam — commotion — 

Wrangling with the peaceful shore — 
Grandeur of Divine devotion — 
'Tis a part of very ocean. 
There is grandeur in the rain-drop, 

In the summer noon-day beam, 
Shining forth in rays of glory. 

Such as haunt a faii-y's dream : 
And this grandeur, fading never, 
Liveth on and shines forever. 
In the zenith of our being 

Is this beauty plainest seen. 
Like a twinkling little orb-light, 

Shining out from 'neatli its screen j 
And a kind word — falt'iing, broken — 
Of sucli beauty is a token. 



li 



PROGRESSION. 

Ye ask nie if progressing ig the world ? 

Well, y^e-s. But, tlien, metliinks not over nuuh, 

Progression is Progression, and, if true, 

Steals onwai-d, upward, asking pause nor re?.t. 

Progression fails where prejudice is rife ! 

Where Bigotry and Malice lift their heads ! 

Where Hatred feeds upon the dead, dead Past-^ 

'rije i)Utrid cai'casses of ages gone ! 

And mostly wliere man-made theology 

Incessant wars against religion felt. 

Wherever Ignorance lives and teaches sciiool, 

You there will find his children — as a rule. 

America! Home of Progressive Thouglit; 

Civilization and of Libei't}^ 

INIust not let Ignorance hold her reins too long 1 

Her common schools have given her wise men, 

These, freed from all sectarian bigotry, 

Like pillars, now support a mighty uation. 

Let England — prosperous little England^aye 

And France— ^the stanchest friends Progression hath- 

Stand up and tell the secret of success I 

Ye wondrous cables flash it to the world ! 

Ye free, unti-ammelled Press, oh give it forth ! 

Oh, keep it not aback ye \A''ondrous powers ! 

But let it live an axiom of the times : 

Wherever Darkness lives and teaclics school, 

You'll find the knave there oft'ner than the fooL 



12 



OLD LIBERTY BELL. 

Writteu ou its return from the World's Exposition, New Orleans, La., 18S5, 

Hail to the bell, ye men who dwell 

111 Freedom's Land ! Hail to the Bell, 

Ye Freemen all ! Along the line, 

Ye proud hearts, hail with joy divine ! 

Y''e cherished sons of Liberty, 

True homage pay that ye are free 1 

For Freedem's sake brave men arose ; 

'Twas Freedom's friends beat back lier foes ; 

For her the fathers bled and died 

On fields of battle— side by side ? 

For them, her sons, lier shrine she reared— 

The Oracle Priestess Liberty. 

On many fields of strife tliey fought, 
And gave the world a newborn tliought ; 
And thou. Good Bell, didst ring it forth 
To East and West and South and North, 
Base tyrants trembled and grew pale. 
Truth loomed up fiercely to assail. 
With uncrowned heads — defiant, bold — 
Cropped forth from ruins, ages old, 
Democracies that fought down caste, 
And laughed to scorn the Unjust Past, 
More work of thine, O Liberty, 
And of thy precious, trophied Bell I 



13 



jNIu}' Southern friends begin to learn, 

Before they think to make retui-n, 

That Nortliern hearts are not as eold 

As many thought in clays of old, 

O Bell that tolled for Freedom's race ; 

And may the furrow in thy face, 

By Time's liand plowed, still broader grow— 

A chasm o'er which — for aught we know-= 

Tile frictions can sliake hands again, 

Moved on by thee, repentant men. 



^J^ 



SUFFICIENCY. 

Thou Great Source ! Too much Thy occult works fol' 

man to know ! 
Thou Great Original! Tliee the Infidel calls his Great 
First Cause ! 

1 call thee LoVe. 1 see Thee in the tiny blade of grass, 
And hear Thee in the playful wind, the ocean's awful moan. 
Hast Thou no history save Nature's obscure page to scan? 
Aye, who can solve Thy problem ? who loose thine 

entanglements ? 
Tliy depths, oh who can sound them, diving down for 

pearls of thought? 
And whence art Thou come? and whei'e is Thine alode? 

My lips are sealed. 
Sufficed am I to know that Thou art all there is of Love. 



14 



TO AN EAGLE. 

" Old Abe" is dead— " Old Abe," the Bird of Wan 

Let Love a garland lay on Old Abe's grave. 

His pinions, lifeless dust, no more distend j 

No more, as was their wont, in majesty 

Our peaks and crags and liighest mountains scale. 

The nation's heart feels heavy, sad, 

And beats for him its Sympathy, while tears 

Bedim the eyes of thousands of his friends ; 

Adown the furrows of the patriot's brov/ 

They furious course, and leave behind a warmth 

Expressive of the godliness of soul — 

An outward showing of the heart within. 

Ah, proud old bird I thy pride is stemmed by pride j 

The Nation's pride for thee transcends thine own. 

Aye, all thy friends, admirers, martial comrades, 

And all the countless eyes that saw thee perched 

Within those sacred walls of Liberty— 

The temporar}^ storehouse of the world— 

The great American Centennial — 

Have pride enough combined at least with thine 

To cope. Thy mutfled drum, oh, drummer, beat ^ 

And homage render to this feathered chief, 

Who, in the heat of fray, above the men, 

With loyal screechings, cheered and urged them on, 

While on the ensign-quarters perched. Few birds--^ 

Though finer plumed than thou couldst well afford, 



Outnuinb'iing tliee in feathers, as in hue, 

Of swifter flight, with stronger pinions blest, 

And, oliief of all, more lovel}^ to the eye, 

Could cope with thee for all. They lacked of parts. 

Here solemn at thy grave the soldier stands, 

And here and there, in groups, thy comrades weeping, 

Canst thou not see the doleful list'ner near? 

Canst thou not hear the falt'iing, stifled voice 

That eulogizes thee ? — the tender step ? 

Or breathe the fragrance of the place thou sleepst? 

Tkine eyes are closed fore'er. No martial strain 

To thrill thee now^ ; yet, once it was a wont! 

No drum and fife to bid thee rise a Phoenix, 

Inspired with life anew. A hero thou — 

A hero with a multitude of heroes. 

Who, scattered here and there, bedot the land. 

Civilization said : " These kindred spirits 

Laid down their life and so advanced the world." 

Then History, upon her sacred page, 

Inscribed each noble deed, and marked the place 

An ei)Och, near the Daw^n of Liberty. 

My prayer for thee, Bird of War, is this: 

Ma}^ peace eternal crown thy ashen home ! 

And when the furious March wind comes to lop 

The pines in younger days thou visitedst, 

1 pray 'twill murmur by in sacredness, 

And leave these flowers on thy grave unscathed. 



TOM MOOKE. 

Wiirm-hearted Erin once brought fortli a bartl, 
Of all the Eiiglisli-si)eakino- world the pride ; 
More worthy he to be her son and charge 
Tiian such as erred, because more loyal, true 
And noble in the eyes of Nature's God. 
At Xatui'e's shrine he worshiped, day by day; 
A child of light, his soul was lilled wit!i light, 
And from his heart there stole such gentle rays 
Of beaat}' and of truth t'.iat men bciield 
in wonderment, and, wond'ring, nearer di'ew. 
God meant that thou shouldst be a shining liglit. 
And set thee on a hill to shine at nioht. 



•o-^o. 



xMen come — just stay awhile — and then move on ; 
But Foets are tiie bees of earthly life ; 
Tlie}^ sij) the honey from tlie trembling llower, 
And, humming out tlieir lay, they, too, speed on. 
So thou, thou tuneful soul, art gone th^' way. 
To sing thy strains aloud to brighter bands. 
The bright of earth read thee as best tliey know, 
Thy outward beauty see ; but what is hid 
Between tlie lines — th}- soul — they see it not. 
Thy lamp is on tiie hill and shines undimmed ! 
Thy harp hung up. Yet. tliough thy tongue be still 
Thy lamp will shijie forever on the hill ! 



17 



GEORGE W. CHILDS. 

Tlioii son of Justice, Truth and Righteousness ! 
Thou friend of Labor and of Capital ! 
Thou plain man of a thousand goodly parts, 
To thee alone the Muse inspiring sings ! 
To thee both Gutenberg and Schaeffer nod ! 
Ben Franklin tenders both his hands to thee ! 
To thee great Greeley looks and says : " Ah, here 

•'Is true political economy — 

''Labor and Capital warmly shaking hands." 
Kind-hearted men, like Poets, are not made ; 
Tliey are the outgrowth of a struggling life — 
A life of toil, of trouble, and of pain. 
'Tis all of God and fraught with hidden good, 
For in their early years the world to them 
Lay full of obstacles that tried the feet. 
God placed them there, unseen by eye of man, 
No doubt to teach the stumbler how to walk ; 
For men to move along the sunny side 
Of life must lift their feet and cautious step. 
'Twill do to call all such our self-made men. 
Who, thrown upon their own resources young, 
Have " run the gauntlet " of a struggling life 
And wrought success out of adversity. 

oA^ 

The searching winds of March the acorn needs 
To change it to the stalwart forest oak ; 

Now, if the acorn needs the biting air. 
Do not brave hearts need nipping from despair ! 



18 



UNCLE AND THE BOYS. 

My boyliood home was in the country, 
And to our viHag-e one day came 

A band of women, men, and children — 
Some deaf and blind and some were lame. 

They struck their tents, like nomads do, 
And were the plain's contented dwellers : 

Tlie men bouglit horses and exchanged ; 
The women thrived as fortune tellers. 

Tills [)ilgrim band had wondrous power ; 

T!ie people begged they praj^ for gold ; 
So down they fell upon their knees 

And what occurred cannot be told. 

p]ac!i golden rafter in the sunlight 

Ketlected back full many a ray, 
And tiny splints and straws so worthless 

Produced a light that coped with day. 

The rocks and stones turned massive nuggets, 
And as the band moved slowly by, 

The fanners in the fields adjacent 
Astonished stood and cried "Oh, m}'^ !" 

The fruit on ti-ees hung golden fruit, 

-And gold turned all the leaves and wood, 
And rye and wheat and grass all gold : 
The people smiled and deemed it good. 



1^ 



Some garnered up tlieir precious fruit, 
And stalk and tree cut quickly down ; 

Some filled gold in potato bags, 
And had it carted olf to town. 

This Joy obtained till harvest caine. 

And tlien a dift'rent aspect bore ; 
iBeside their iioard they stood and cried : 

"Kechange these things — we ask no more'/' 

*' Come back! comeback! ye wonder-workers I 
Comeback! comeback!" in secret cried ! 

And sure enough the band came back, 
Rechanged the scene, and calm replied : 

''' We prayed for gold, just as ye asked, 
And ye, sore troubled, call us back ; 

Ne'er ask us pray for needless things, 
But only wliat ye know ye lack !" 

■f rue, gold is precious and is useful— 

But are not also iron bars ? 
What would you do without your steamsliiiis. 

Your engines and your railroad cars ? 

MORAL. 
Now all you boys have heard the «lory— 

The Moral now, and all is told — 
That fireside is the most unhappy 

Surrounded by its walls of gold. 



20 



THE POET AND THE FISH, 

Ah, Little Fish, 

I'd happy be 
If I could swim 

As well as thee. 

Here from the bank 
I'll watch thy bends ) 

I want to learn 
Some oddg and ends. 

Ton don't know me? 

I'm all surprise } 
Just look again, 

With opened eyes? 

Don't bend thy tail 

So bashfully. 
But turn about 

And speak to me. 

Now, do but speak t 

'Tis all I ask > 
I'll leave thee then 

In sun to ba&k. 

FISH. 

Who are you, sir, 
That you command? 

I'll not be ruled. 
Now understand t 



21 

POET. 

Why, Little Fish, 

Is it a Jest ? 
Don't thou know oie? 

Well, I'll he blest. 

Now, don't thou knoAf 
That hoar old man 

Who visits thee 
Whene'er he can ? 

Who lifts his cane, 
And frights thee so r 

Thy truest friend"- 
Now don't thee know f 

FISH. 
Why, bless you. Poet ! 

Am glad you've come ; 
I'm lonely here^ 

And need a chum. 

I'll lend an ear 5 
What's new today? 

Be quick, dear sir, 
Or I'll not stay : 

You see those men 
With hook-and-lin'€ ? 

They can't fool me ! 
I've things down fine I 



2^ 

POET. 

0, silly fish ; 

Don't cliTe away ! 
Just stay a bit ? 

Oh, stay, stay, stay l 

They won't harm thee ^ 
A silly thought ! 

FISH. 

E'en such, Old Friend^ 
Are good for aught. 

I'll trust your word, 
Yet watch my eye ^ 

If they come back, 
You'll see me fly. 

POET. 

Ah, Little Fish, 

It must be sweet, 
Amid the \vaves. 

To plash and beat ^ 
Beside each boat, 

Each little craft, 
To swim alongj 

Or follow aft. 

But then for thee 

Men's nets are spread 
Alive to-day. 

To-morrow dead. 



23 

FISH. 

Too true, Old Man, 
You are my friend ; 

O, ^rant me life 
Without an end ! 

POET. 

I can't do that ; 

Pray ask of God ; 
I give those life 

Beneath the sod. 
There are such wights 

As breathe to-day, 
Who long ago 

Were turned to clay. 

FISH. 

I give men brains, 

Wise men declare ; 
And so they hunt 

Me everywhere. 
Now, prithee Friend, 

Do grant this wish — 
Just let me live 

Beyond the dish. 

POET. 

Beyond— Oh— I— 
Yes, Little Fish, 

I'll grant thee life 
Beyond the dish. 



BE AND DO. 

Wliat is Deep Thought to the .selfish ! 

What is Mind to workers ill ! 
Brain to such is but a creature, 

Cruelly slaoghtered by the Will. 

Honest thinkers ! honest toilers! 

Are of value more than such ! 
Like t'le tare, they crop up quickly. 

And amount to just as much. 

Honest Thought and Honest Action 
Always have been sorely tried ; 

Socrates, Aspasia, Bruno, 

Enimett — stood alone and died ! 

Be a Fatlier to the Fallen, 

Be a Mother to the Weak, 
Be a Brotlier to the Friendless, 

Be a Sister to the Meek. 

Do noi be afraid to scatter 

Honest thoughts, or words, or deeds I 
Look about you, see what's wanting ! 

Tell the world Just what it needs ! 

Home will laugh and some will argue ; 

But a tliought is never lost ; 
Even they will some da}^ see it, 

Take it up and pay the cost! 



25 



PISCES. 

Ladies, read it, con and ponder ; 

Sonietliing pleasant for to read ; 
I'l is frauf^lit with wisest counsel — 

Just the veiy thing you need. 

Yes, a poem — no adventure, 

With a lieroine so fjiir 
Just escaping- by a liair's breadtli 

In tlie moment of despair. 

Nor about a loving couple — 
How to catcli a wealthy beau ; 

I can iell you, but 'tis folly ; 
1 believe you better kno^v. 

I can tell you— do you wisii me? 

Earnest, now, your true desire? 
Then remembei* 'tis a hardship ; 

Art is tedious to acquire. 

Get a hook-and-line and bait it ; 

Throw it out as far 'twill go ; 
Sit upon the bank as patient 

As at home you were to sew. 

No mistake, you'll feel a nibbling; 

Jerk it, quick now ! Ah, too late ! 
Blame yourself you didn't catch him ; 

Let him nibble oif your bait. 



Sometimes where the fish are tliiekest, 
And the line amid them thrown, 

Sometimes there is meanest fisliing, 
As has oftentimes been sliown. 

Do not weary from impatience, 
Mind and body passive, still ! 

'Sh ! The}' swim in all directions ; 
One don't bite, another will. 

Keep on fishino;; 'tis experience, 
Time and thought with it combined ', 

Once 'tis learned 'tis ne'er forgotten — 
Ladies, keep this fact in mind. 

Some fish are not worth the catchinir ; 

Sliouhl they fasten on your hook, 
Do not waste a moment on tliem — 

Quickly throw them in the brook ! 

Tliere are things you must remember ; 

Tilings to learn from time to time ; 
Things the poet cannot teach you 

In his golden, jingling rhyme. 

•' Oft appearance is deceptive," 
Is an old, inviting thought ; 

Pretty fishes sometimes worthless — 
Sometimes worthy being cauglit. 



27 



Should a lish percluuice deceive you, 
Ignoi-ancc 'tis of ruling law ; 

Learn his luiture, 'tis your business ; 
Then (deceived you'll be no more ! 

Oh, how many go a-fishing, 

Wait and wait and wish and wish ; 

(>f the Art they kiioAv but little — 
Can't expect to catch a lish ! 

Now, supi)ose you should prove lucky ; 

Just suppose you caught a fish ; 
Just suppose it were a " flounder," 

("IMs a most delicious dish) 

Full of spii-ir— flouncing, flapping — 
Hard to di-aw from water's crest. 

Would you do it? would unhook him? 
Would you do it? do your best? 

Inexperienced tishers tremble, 
Quit the sport, and then retreat ; 

Hut experienced fishers joy it 
When with such rare luck they meet. 

Such an one can catch a fine mess — 
Nicely string them — put on bait — 

Do a hundred things moreover, 
While you, poor souls, wish and wait. 



28 



I have done now with the poem ; 

Hope you think it very nice ; 
Study well the Art of Fishing ; 

Take the poet's kind advice. 
Do not fear the larger lishes ; 

Nor the smaller cast away ; 
Sometimes those that seem tlie wildest. 

In tlie pan most quiet lay. 



TIME OF HARVEST AND OF SONG. 
First the cloud-wreath, then the liglitning 

Then the thunder loud and long; 
'J'hen the rain-storm, then the sunbeam. 
Tlien the Harvest and tlie Song! 
No real pleasure. 
In a measure, 
Ere the Harvest and the Song ! 
Oh, await it ! soon or lale it 
Comes — the Harvest and tlie Song! 
Ere the Plowman, or the Sov/er, 

Or the Reaper comes along. 
Comes the dark cloud with its lesson. 
Then the Harvest and the Song ! 
Comes affliction ! 
Comes conviction ! 
Then the Harvest and the Song! 
Oh, await it ! soon or late it 
Comes — the Harvest and the Song! 



THE ORATION. 

To write a good oration is one tliino; • to deliver it i>rop- 
erly is another. It is tliis liappy combination tliat makes 
tlie orator. He throws his soul into the work. When 
Goethe tells us that " Sincerity is the soul of eloquence " he 
means simply this, for just so soon as oratory ceases to be 
sincere, just so soon does it cease to be orator}' and merges 
into something else. Its very derivation (oro, to pray) im- 
plies this fact — a saciedness in which sincerity plan's a veiy 
important and essential pait. Hence, it distils its vital 
influence on the heart, little b}' little, lirst pleasing, then 
enthusino-, then setiing the soul of the hearer on Are. Dor- 
mant patriotism is aroused ] the spirit is awakened to new 
life ; and the latent forces of tlie mind grow rebellious : 
they declare themselves free and independent — free to think 
and learn ; independent — being the component i)arts ot 
Truth herself, which is the mother of Independence. The 
sacredness of its derivation alone tells us to love the good 
and to shun the bad ; tells us to hold in high esteem the 
noble living, and to cherish the memor}^ of the patriotic 
dead ; tells us that the astute statesman, the sacrificing 
philanthropist and the crippled soldier, are all entitled to an 
equal share of our respect. 

Although it may not be the province of the oration to 
directly warn against the manifold evils arising out of the 
partial disregard of these seemingly trivial matters, yet it 
does, however, lay particular stress in the fact that an 



30 



absolute neglect of apptireiitl}' iiisignirtcant trifles like 
these, that the old Roinaii patrician slighted and the 
statesman never liuve a thought, was one of tlie direct 
means whicli led to tiie downfall of tlie old Roman 
Republic, which had existed B. c. for 4G1 years 

Again, oratory suggests a love for " God, home and native 
bind"; and tliat in order to attain which we must have 
good pubUc schools, at once the foundation and the pillars 
of a republic. Grood public schools make wise men, wise 
men make good citizens, good citizens are the only pillars 
upon wdiich our sacied institutions can confidingly and 
securely I'est. As s[)ecimens of true orations w^e have that 
of R. H. Leo on Washington, just after the latter's death ; 
that of Daniel Webstei- ui)on the deat'i of Adams and of 
Jeft'ei'son ; and, lastly, the speech of Robert Emmett in the 
Court House, Dublin, aftei- being sentenced to death, Sep- 
tember 10. 180;]. 

Sometiuies we find so-called orations on analysis to be 
little else than continual bits of afi'ected elocution, full of 
insincerity and wholly void of thought, whose object is to 
pra\' ui)on the [)as5ions of men and win them over to a given 
cause — oftener an unvvorth}' one. In this category may be 
placed Marc Antony's Oration over the Dead Body of 
C'lesar, C;esar's Addre-;s to liis Soldiers on Ci'ossing the 
Rubicon, and. in more modern times, tiiose of our own 
l)Olitical demagogues. These fiagitious violators of the 
sacred oration are little better than the anticiuated school 
of Sophists who professed to teach the arts of thinking 



31 



and speakiii"' in public, but more especially as those ai'ts 
were applied to )>olitical science, thus tittino; men for tlie 
management of the att'airs of .State. This class of philoso- 
j)liers (?) held tliat truth was a nonentity ; and that what 
was popularly denominated trutli was merely the result 
of combined rhetoric and elocution, with which logic 
had little or nothing to do ; hence they were the direct 
i-ause of the looseness of moi-al> in Grecian society at that 
remote day. What with being the contemners and accuseis 
of Socrates, the very name of so))hist has long since become 
a term of repi-oach. and llie modern disciple, whether in 
politics, science or religion, is pointed out and relentless!}^ 
scorned hy the thinking world to-day. No wonder that 
they felt inclined to prefer the false and grievous charges 
against that good old man who sought to stay the hand of 
error with his anti(j[ue pi-ecej»ts I No wonder that they 
pushed the matter so energetically to have the State protTei- 
him the fatal hendock chalice — all that they might the more 
remove the obstacle and uninterruptedly pursue their 
sordid w^ork. Lord liyron. in one of iiis later poems, nobly 
takes up the defence in the following beautiful apostrophe : 

"Thy crime was to be kiu.l ; 

To render with thy precept less 

The sum of liuman wretchedness. 
And strengthen man with his own mind." 

It may be here observed that men with minds adapted 
for writing dis(j[uisitlons and critiques are seldom, if ever, 
capable of producing a good oration. The reason for this 
must seem obvious. The disquisition deals with {dnlosophy 



32 

and logic, tJie oration with poetry and rlietoric. Wliilst 
the latter, like critical poetry, is varied with bits of sub- 
limity and beaut.y and pathos, t!ie former deals wliolly with 
facts, making indefatigable researches for them and pre- 
senting them to the minds of men in a strong logical light. 
Voluminous philosopliical writers, as a class, who have no 
taste for poetry, show little or no taste in their prose com- 
position. They use a i)Oor, unpolished diction at best, 
and lack elegance and persi)icuity of tliought and expres- 
sion, consequently it is only with difficulty they are undei-- 
stood. Thoughts from these men are always novelties, and 
*;Annot be made too plain even to the most intelligent read- 
ers, inasmuch as tliey are the pearls of thought deep minds 
have brought forth from the unfathomable depths of Na- 
ture's vast self ; the}^ are naturally obscure, and to clothe 
tiiem in other than tlie plain Anglo-Saxon is to make them 
doubly so. 

In conclusion, apropos of the subject in hand, let it be 
argued that the most finished orations, antique or modern, 
this age has to be proud of, were either the handiwork 
of a born poet, or of some one with the poetic instinct 
develoijed to a remarkably high degree. Among the great 
orators who wrote poetry maj^ be mentioned Cicero, Chat- 
ham, Fox, Manstield, Curran, Webster, Claj^ Calhoun, 
Everett, and others. 



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016 117 876 7 t 




Oa many fields of strife they fought, 
And gave the world a new-born thought ; 
And thou. Good Bell, didst ring it forth 
To East, and West, and South, and North. 



